


Together We Stand

by sperrywink



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, M/M, Non-Period Acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9239972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sperrywink/pseuds/sperrywink
Summary: An opportunity for a marriage of convenience surprises Lord Barton.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misbegotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/gifts).



> Not quite magic made them do it, but I still hope you enjoy it, misbegotten!
> 
> This gave me the opportunity to dust off a longstanding WIP and finally put it to rest. :-)

Things were quickly escalating, and Clint didn’t know how to stop it. No one could control Lord Tony Stark, the best Clint could do was protect Tony’s back. He stepped forward to let Tony know he was there, just as Lord Hammer was taking off his glove, most likely to slap Tony with it and demand a duel. Then the unexpected happened. 

Two bodies pushed in-between Hammer and Tony, one taking Hammer by the arm and pulling his protesting ass away, while the other stood in front of Tony with hands in front of Tony’s chest, not touching. The man said, “While it’s generally not my business when Lords want to make fools of themselves, this is a dear friend’s ball, and she would be highly distraught.”

Clint watched as Tony looked down at the rough hands in front of him, and then back at the man’s expressionless face. A couple of beats of fraught silence followed, while Tony fought down his anger. Finally his back unstiffened, and then a calculating look came over his face. He said, “I don’t know you, and I know everybody.”

“Then you will be happy to know, I am nobody.”

Tony raised one disbelieving eyebrow, but then the second man returned, who turned out to be General Nick Fury, and Clint could feel his back straightening. Nick Fury had that effect on many men. Fury said, “Hammer’s been shown the door; everything all right here, Coulson?”

Coulson looked at Tony, who looked challenging back, but Coulson just shook his head, like one would at a recalcitrant child, and with the slightest exasperation in his voice, replied, “I think so, Nick.”

Clint wanted to make a disbelieving sound out loud, but he kept it in at the last second. No one who was on a first named basis with Nick Fury was _nobody_. 

He scrutinized this Coulson character closer, but he looked like a bland, middle-aged man. He had an unassuming face and a receding hairline. His eyes were a striking blue and his shape was well-kept, but that seemed to be the most that could be said for him, until Clint watched him walk away. He was used to the restrained power of Nick Fury eclipsing everyone around him, but Coulson stood at his shoulder with ease and familiarity. He looked like he belonged in Fury’s sphere, like a lion prince just waiting to take down prey. Clint swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. He had always found competence arousing, and apparently Coulson had it aplenty. Coulson turned around just before they turned the corner, and he unerringly found Clint’s gaze. He held it for a moment, with a look Clint couldn’t interpret, and then was gone. 

Shaking his head to clear it of images of Coulson, he did snort then. He had enough on his plate without fantasizing about Nick Fury’s friends. Tony gave him a questioning glance, but Clint just shook his head minutely. Nodding towards the card rooms, he said, “Shall we go see if there is more entertainment to be had besides Hammer’s blustering?”

Clapping him on the shoulder, Tony nodded, and led the way to the side room.  
  


* * *

* * *

  
Clint was sipping a glass of scotch from one of his last bottles when Tony came storming in, as was his wont. He was already talking, which was also his way. He was exclaiming, “A nobody! The man had the gall to say that to my face!” He was already at the decanter and pouring himself a drink, as he looked to Clint for commiseration.

Clint sighed. “I actually have no idea of what you’re talking about.”

Tony waved his arm, spilling some of his scotch over his arm. He said, “You remember! That guy at the Hill Ball who said he was nobody. I’ve been digging.” He then stopped talking to frown at his dripping hand. Shrugging he licked the scotch as Clint put away his papers. This was going to take a while, he could tell, and reviewing his accounts wasn’t doing him a damned bit of good anyway. He couldn’t magically make the money appear, and he knew it was fruitless to do anything but sell the properties, but he couldn’t help recalculating the numbers every day anyway.

“He’s a crony of Fury, are you sure digging is the smart thing to do?”

“Hey, whatever I do is the smart thing to do; I’m the genius, remember? Besides I was careful.”

Clint raised both eyebrows. Tony Stark and careful didn’t inhabit the same hemisphere, let alone when he was snooping. “My point still stands. It’s rumored Fury orchestrated the second capture of Bonaparte by Wellington; he’s no one to trifle with.”

“Apparently Coulson isn’t a slouch either, although you wouldn’t know it to look at him.” Tony shrugged and grimaced. He had always preferred a beautiful face. Clint was the one who found intrigue in hidden gems. Tony continued, “He’s a shipping magnate who has upwards of eighty thousand pounds. Rumor has it that his foreign contacts are what gave Fury access to his international intelligence network to catch Bonaparte. He even has a Russian step-daughter. A real beauty, by all accounts.”

Clint started shaking his head. “Oh no, you don’t. I am not letting you get embroiled in a dalliance with the daughter of one of Fury’s cronies. We’d never find the body!”

Getting a shifty look on his face, Tony looked down at his scotch. He almost mumbled, but Clint heard him clearly enough as he murmured, “I wasn’t thinking of me. You could restore Barton Manor to its former glory.”

Clint was speechless, so he just blinked as the silence lengthened between them. Tony, never good with silence, took a couple steps towards Clint, and held up an entreating hand. “Just think about what eighty thousand pounds could do! You wouldn’t have to sell or even let anyone go. You could try those new-fangled farming techniques you’re always going on about without worrying about your tenants going hungry!”

Finally finding his voice, Clint rubbed his forehead. “You know I don’t like women like that, not even for eighty thousand pounds. And I’m not going to trick some poor girl into marrying me under false pretenses.” Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Clint talked over him. “I am also not so foolish as to try and pull one over on Fury or his friends. What are you thinking?”

“Can I talk now, or are you going to continue to bite my head off?”

Clint sighed dramatically, but nodded for Tony to speak.

“I wasn’t thinking of the daughter, I was thinking of Coulson. He’s a widower. I saw that look you gave him the other night. I may never understand your taste, but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize it when it’s standing in front of me looking unimpressed.”

Starting to laugh, a bit hysterically if he was honest, Clint said, “Oh my god, you’ve gone completely round the bend.”

“Eighty thousand pounds, and a man you’re attracted to, what’s the problem?” Tony sounded exasperated now, like he thought Clint was being unreasonable. But Tony had never struggled the way Clint always had, and while Clint didn’t begrudge him that, it did make it hard sometimes for Tony to see reality as other, lesser people had to cope with it.

“Tony, I love you, but reality doesn’t bend to other people’s will the way it does to yours. Just because he has money I need and I found him attractive, doesn’t mean that we’re going to live happily ever after!” Clint’s voice was rising, so much so that he almost missed the discreet cough from the doorway.

His valet Bruce was standing there with Coulson right behind him with another blank expression on his face. There was no way he hadn’t heard everything Clint had just said, and all Clint could do was turn betrayed eyes to Tony, who had the grace to look apologetic. Tony said, “Did I forget to mention I asked Coulson to pay a call on urgent business?”

Suddenly feeling too drained to fight with Tony, Clint dropped his head into his hands, and then went ahead and slumped in the chair behind his desk. Bruce cautiously asked, “Shall I order some tea, sir?”

Clint waved a careless hand, and said, “Sure, why not. Tea is a great accompaniment to my utter mortification.” He leaned his head against the chair back, and closed his eyes. Maybe if he pretended hard enough Tony and Coulson would disappear. Hell, maybe if he wished hard enough, he could disappear too.

He heard shuffling, and Tony whispering furiously, but he didn’t open his eyes until he heard the door snick shut. Hoping for blessed solitude, he was surprised to find Coulson standing there with his hand on the doorknob, and only Tony gone. Deciding to bite the bullet _hard_ , Clint said as evenly as he could, “I’m sorry Tony brought you here under false pretenses. I have no designs on you, I promise.” He met Coulson’s gaze as steadily as he could, even as he felt his ears heat with embarrassment.

Leaning back against the door, Coulson lifted his hand slowly off the doorknob to cross his arms in front of him. His jacket strained over his shoulders, and Clint swallowed hard. He didn’t know if it was arousal or fear he felt in his heightened state. With a calm voice, Coulson said, “By all rights, you should.”

Thrown for a loop once too many in too few minutes, Clint felt his jaw slacken until he snapped it shut. “Excuse me?”

“Lord Stark wasn’t the only one to do some research. My money _is_ more than enough to solve the financial problems your father and brother left you with.”

Anger flashed fast and hot through Clint. He snapped up out of the chair and stalked forwards. “Okay, enough. I don’t know what game you’re playing, or what you think you have on me, but I’m not going to stand for it in my own house. Out.” He wrenched the door, but Coulson was still leaning on it, and Coulson put his weight into keeping the door from flying open the way Clint wanted. With the door only open a few inches, he put one hand over Clint’s on the doorknob, causing Clint to look into his eyes, defiantly. 

Coulson sincerely said, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I meant to imply. I’m trying to say I think we _can_ help each other; Lord Stark was right about that. I do have something you need, and you have respectability I would like for my daughter.”

Wanting to laugh hysterically, Clint closed his eyes, and took a deep breath to let his roiling emotions settle, if only slightly. Still, he let Coulson close the door again. Getting himself under control, he said, “Apparently you missed the part of the conversation where I informed Tony in no uncertain terms that I don’t marry women, not even for eighty thousand pounds.”

With a bit of a disparaging smile, Coulson said, “Oh, no I caught that. I respect your honorable intentions. But that doesn’t mean that our marriage wouldn’t still give Natasha an entry into circles I would never be able to provide for her on my own, even with my wealth and connections.”

Too overwhelmed, Clint leaned his forehead on the door-frame and breathed. Coulson silently let him, but Clint could feel his scrutiny. Just then there was a soft knock on the door, and Clint knew it was Bruce with the tea. He muttered, “Oh, what the hell,” and opened the door. This time Coulson moved to allow him to do so. 

Bruce rolled the trolley into the room, surprisingly without Tony on his heels. Seeing Clint looking into the hallway, Coulson said, “I asked Lord Stark for some privacy. He said he would be back tomorrow.”

Clint snorted. Apparently even Tony could gain some discretion when the need arose. Or else it was self-preservation, knowing how much Clint would want to kill him for his role in this farce. Bruce asked, “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No, thank you, Bruce.”

“Very well.” Besides the tea accouterments, the trolley had a large selection of cakes and biscuits. Usually Bruce was sparing with the food, and Clint could tell he fell on Tony’s side of the issue by the large assortment alone.

Overwhelmed again, Clint just waved towards the trolley. “I think we can help ourselves, yes?”

Coulson simply nodded, and quietly helped himself to tea and food, settling on the couch near the sideboard when he was finished serving himself. Clint took a simple cup of tea, and sat down next to Coulson.

They sipped their beverages quietly, and it was almost comfortable, if Clint’s mind hadn’t been racing so much. This all seemed too outlandish to be true, and Clint kept waiting to wake up. Coulson eventually got up, and put his empty plate and cup back on the trolley. Then, to Clint’s surprise, he came to kneel on one knee in front of Clint. Taking hold of Clint’s teacup, Coulson set it aside on the floor, and then took hold of Clint’s cold hands in his large, calloused ones.

Clint knew his hands were shaking, if only slightly, but Coulson didn’t remark on it. He simply held tightly to Clint’s hands and rubbed them, as if he could warm them up.

He said, “I’ll take my leave now and let you think things over. But before I do, let me say again that I am getting benefits from this arrangement as well. They may seem inconsequential to you, but they have been insurmountable for me for some time. I consider it an equal exchange.” 

Looking up from their clasped hands as Coulson spoke, Clint was lost in the sincerity of his gaze. He had kind eyes, which was counter to the little he knew about the man. Nobody became a shipping magnate or Nick Fury’s right-hand man by being kind. Coulson quirked a small smile for him, and Clint nodded slightly. He would hardly be thinking of anything else.

Coulson stood gracefully, and pulled a calling card out of his waistcoat. “Here’s my card. Feel free to come calling at any time. Good day, Lord Barton.” With a slight bow, he left Clint alone.

Clint looked down at his hands, which, contrarily, felt bereft without Coulson rubbing warmth into them. Clint didn’t know what to make of that, so he thrust it into the back of his mind, and rubbed his own hands together to generate warmth, and erase the feeling. There were more pressing matters about this whole day to be paid attention to.  
  


* * *

* * *

  
Things moved remarkably quickly after that meeting, particularly with Tony encouraging them along. Somehow, before he could figure out how he really felt about things, he was married. 

When the banns were read, he mostly just felt relief. Creditors backed off and the staff returned to their normal cheerful selves, both knowing he would be solvent shortly. During the ceremony he got lost in Coulson’s eyes, which was ridiculous to admit to himself, but totally true. But now the wedding reception was winding down, and Coulson was talking to Fury, laughing with Fury even, and Clint wondered what he had gotten himself into. He felt like he was waking from a dream. 

He glanced wildly around the ballroom, wondering what to do, but feeling he had to do something, when Natasha whispered into his ear, “Come with me.”

He turned his head to meet her gaze, and he saw the deep understanding that was typical of her. She was eighteen and about seven years younger than Clint, but she was intelligent and cunning, and he had been spending a lot of time with her. She was cleverer than him by more than half, and he found her delightful. Still, she shocked him with her request, and since his mind was still flying off into fits of fantasy, he wondered if she was going to read him the riot act for daring to considering doing a runaway husband on Coulson.

God, he’d have to start calling him Phil in private, right? Even in his thoughts. He began to sweat and his gaze unfocused.

Natasha squeezed his hand painfully hard, so hard that he gasped and focused again on her razor-sharp. She repeated, “Come with me.” Not waiting for him to gather his wits, she pulled him by her tight grip into the alcove leading to the outside balcony.

“Breathe, Clint.”

He tried to take a deep breath, but he wheezed instead, and looked at her in alarm. Without warning she slammed his head, not violently but with some force, into a column bracketing the balcony doors. Was she actually out to get him? This was scarier than Fury laughing.

Unable to stop himself, he said, “Ow! What the hell?” He winced at his breach of etiquette, but more so at his head which was now throbbing. It wouldn’t last and he’d maybe have only a small bruise, but still. He rubbed the side of it by his ear where it had hit the column.

Natasha said, “Consider it a cognitive recalibration. You were panicking. I had to do something drastic to get your attention.”

“Well, you have it now, definitely.” He looked at her curiously.

“Don’t do it.”

“Do what?” Clint wondered how obvious his panic had been in the ballroom. If Natasha could see he was having second thoughts, could everyone? She had been across the room. 

She rolled her eyes. “Stop thinking of yourself. Or rather, think of just yourself. If money and position weren’t on the table, just the normal matrimonial machinations, would you consider father a viable prospect?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“No buts. So would father. Think of that, not everything else.”

“It’s not that simple. Everyone thinks I’m a gold-digger now.”

“And they think I’m a grasping commoner reaching above my station. They don’t matter. The three of us? We matter.”

Clint was going to argue further, but he stopped as he was struck by what she said. Turning big eyes to Natasha, he repeated, “The three of us?”

“What you thought you were braving the lion’s den alone? Of course it’s us now.”

He started saying, “But—,” and she interrupted him to say, “Do you need _another_ cognitive recalibration?”

Clint huffed out a laugh and shook his head. Just then Coulson, _Phil_ , came around the partly drawn curtain, and said, “There you both are.” He beamed at them, obviously a little tipsy still. Clint, after living with his father and brother who had both imbibed too freely, had avoided the champagne except for the toasts, so he was cold sober still.

Clint smiled weakly back, but then Natasha stepped on his foot hard. “Ow!” She raised one eyebrow at him, and he knew it was a reminder. The three of them standing together was the key.

She smiled sweetly at him. “Welcome to the family. I’ll leave you two alone, and let the guests know you are retiring.” She then kissed his cheek softly and whispered, “Remember what I said.”

He nodded, really he couldn’t do anything but remember considering his throbbing head and foot. They were constant reminders that he needed to pay attention and think differently now. He was married, and as Natasha had pointed out, it wasn’t just about him. Or it was, but how he fit with the other two. It was about the three of them. If they stood together they had a chance, but if he bolted, well, he would have nothing, and neither would the Coulsons.

He took a deep breath and said, “Let me lead you to the master suite. There’s a back staircase out of the way of the guests.”

Phil, still smiling genially, nodded. Clint led him through the corridors, Phil taking Clint’s hand when the passageway got very dark due to the low, flickering candles.

Clint squeezed lightly back, and Coulson started walking a hair’s breadth behind him, instead of a foot. After they climbed the back staircase and Clint was leading Phil through the more brightly lit hallway, Phil still didn’t step back. He actually wrapped one arm around Clint’s middle from behind and held their bodies close as they walked in lockstep. Clint’s breath caught. Phil felt so good holding him.

It was only a couple feet to the master suite door, and they found Bruce and Coulson’s valet Fitz preparing their bedclothes once Clint opened the door. A flush sufficed Clint’s face, but he didn’t step away from Phil.

Bruce beamed at him, and Clint wanted to roll his eyes, but didn’t with Fitz also staring at them. Phil said, “Thank you, Fitz. That will be all.”

Clint just nodded at Bruce’s questioning look, and they discreetly left though the side door to the adjoining dressing room which had its own door back to the hallway.

Phil wrapped his other arm around Clint. “So I saw you were anxious in the ballroom.”

“Oh my god, did everyone notice or what?”

Phil more obviously hugged him, and Clint found himself relaxing into it. Relaxing for the first time since the ceremony when he had stared at Phil’s eyes, to be honest. Phil said, “No, it wasn’t obvious. I was just watching for it.”

Incredulous, Clint turned and asked, “You expected me to do a runner? Why on earth did you marry me, then?”

“In case you didn’t.”

Clint stared into his kind eyes, seeing understanding and hope, and decided. He kissed Phil with all he had, and passion erupted between them. He suddenly felt what Natasha had been trying to tell him. They were a unit now, and Clint wouldn’t have it any other way. It wasn’t about the money or the prestige, although those helped both of them obviously, it was about family.

Clint finally felt like he had one worth fighting for. Kissing Phil was like the homecoming he had only dreamed of as a boy, and obviously Natasha was there to keep him on his toes.

He ended the kiss, which had gotten quite involved while his mind flew through all his feelings of panic and anxiety, tearing them to shreds. Resting his forehead on Phil’s, he said, “Keep kissing me like that, and I’m all in.”

And Phil did just that for the rest of their lives.


End file.
